The Speed of Light
by ThePervinErmin
Summary: Medieval AU that is a loose crossover between SSBB and LoZ. Shounen-ai oneshot, rated T for swearing, blood, romance, and...pickled tomatoes? Hop on for a ride with Marth and Roy and see what goes on in my whacky fantasy.


**Hello, boys! Did yeh miss me? Ah well. It was worth a try. Ahem, anyways, here I am, back again with another fic, one which took way too long to complete.**

**WARNING! This is a dream based story, therefore some parts are not consistent and it is NOT scientifically correct. Therefore, if you mind such things, don't read this or you'll be frustrated. Don't mind it? By all means, welcome to my whacky fantasy and enjoy your stay.**

******And of course, disclaimers, Marth and Roy and Super Smash Bros Brawl are not miiiiiiiiiine. And neither are any of the references or other games mentioned, I'm very sure everyone already knows.**

* * *

The enemies of Altea were at a great disadvantage. No matter how many times they had kidnapped him, no matter how they had tried to kill the heir to the throne, he had miraculously survived. Weapons could not kill him. Wizards attempts did nothing. Burning would not char him. Even drowning had no effect on the child and after each failure his father and knights would snatch him back. Some began to suspect that perhaps he was an undead creature, a lich brought back to life from some filthy grave. Some thought there were spells protecting the child and binding him to life. However, all assumptions were incorrect. For so long. At last the secret slipped out one night, a celebratory ball, the prince's birth date. A drunken fairy took one look at him and spoke his secret aloud.

"...the bastard child of a blue-fire nymph."

»»««»»

It was in Marth's fourteenth year that he met his attendant, a fiery-haired boy the same age as himself. And it was hate at first sight. Roy believed Marth to be a prissy, effeminate excuse of a prince and Marth in turn believed Roy to be an arrogant, annoying excuse of an attendant. And as soon as they had seen each other, they knew that they were the same. It was still two years before the intoxicated sprite would give out his secret, their secret. One look was enough to tell. Marth was half blue-fire nymph and Roy was half red-fire. More common than blue-fire, admittedly, but still the same. They were both bastards, both creatures the public would never have accepted, had it known the truth.

It is fair, perhaps, to say that eventually they came to know each other a little better. However, it is also quite fair, more than fair really, to say that it was a long, painful process that could have been avoided if they hadn't fought and argued so much at every given opportunity. Roy loved to criticize and Marth usually tried in vain to end the argument which Roy claimed made him itchy. Marth reminded Roy countless times that there was no logic in that and that he made no sense. And Roy would always have some snarky comeback or other with which to retaliate and therefore lengthen the argument.

Nevertheless, little by little, the two learned to see the other's better qualities and learned to accept each other more by the end of a year. And by the end of the second year they had bonded together and some of the castle's elderly residents quietly wished they hadn't. Like all young jittered royals Marth shared Roy's everlasting thirst for adventure and havoc. The captures became a game, each time Marth experimenting with his strengths, his endurance, his ability to escape from the other kingdoms' grasps, frustrating the kings and dukes wishing his murder. At some point he and Roy discovered their ability to run, run as fast as the speed of light as we know it, each trailing their own flames like humanoid comets. Then they raced. Of course they had to keep it secret. When they were alone they'd practice racing one another across hundreds upon thousands of miles and then back, Roy always slightly ahead. They learned how to use their fire, their limits, what would kill them. They couldn't be killed by unnatural means. However, natural occurrences, such as illness and old age, would likely be their deaths when the times came.

»»««»»

Even if she wasn't his mother in truth, the Queen was fond of Prince Marth. The story of how he came about wasn't one he himself even knew. The Queen was unable to bear children, and yet an heir was needed. Therefore she had sought the help of her blood-sister, a blue-fire nymph whom she had once long ago met and aided. In this manner she had attained a son, and she named him Marth.

»»««»»

The celebration was dragging along in its usual manner. Eating, drinking, dancing, music. There were elves and pixies, witches and wizards, dwarves and visitors of other kingdoms, all with either good wishes for the young prince's health or hopes for a weakness to show itself. Of course Marth had learned to deal with this by now. Being polite yet slightly distant with the guests usually gave no opportunities for overly nosy questions, at the same time keeping them from any insulted feelings.

"I wonder how you stand all of this without slouching," Roy said, taking a bite of bread.

"I don't know," Marth turned to him. Roy himself was slouching with his right hand in his pocket, the other holding the bread. "How do you stand being stupid every day of your life?"

"Simple. Being stupid is awesome," he tore into the bun mercilessly. "Here comes another spriggie to congratulate you."

"I see her."

"Oh, yourh highnesst," the fairy bowed, nearly tipping over, her words slurred oddly, possibly due to the stink of pixie wine on her breath. "Happ-ii-birthdy."

Roy gave Marth a sideways look and Marth tried to smile. "Thank you," he managed.

"Levely par-tee, very lovey indee," she smiled brightly, giggling as if at some joke. "but I shoulda be heading hum..." Her voice trailed off as she stared at Marth.

"Dear me," Roy rolled his eyes. "I think you've stunned the poor creature with your beauty."

Marth shot Roy a sharp look before flicking his attention back to the tipsy 'spriggie.' She was still giving him a very odd look. "Are you alright?" He asked.

"You're notr really the Queenh's son, ier you?"

Marth stiffened. Roy tensed. "Maybe it's about time I drag her away before she draws too much attention?" He suggested in a warning half-whisper.

"Go ahead," Marth muttered.

"I heard thagt!" She frowned crossing her arms and glaring at Roy as he grabbed the knee-high fairy up and hefted her over his shoulder, her feet flailing and kicking violently. She pointed at Marth. "You're jusst the bastard childh of a blue-fire nymph-Uwapphhh!" She wailed suddenly as Roy clamped a hand over her mouth in attempt to shush her as he dashed from the room.

All eyes were on Marth. It was definitely not a good thing. His mouth and throat went dry and he couldn't speak. He heard it before it came. He dodged as a dagger flew at him, slicing the side of his head and ear and sticking into the wall behind him, sending some blood flying into the general crowd. An elf cringed and wiped his face on his neighbor's sleeve. The caster of the dagger was a man with his face shadowed by the darkness of his faded brown cloak. The hooded man pulled another dagger from his belt and readied to throw. Marth turned and ran from the room, following Roy, the second dagger whistling after him in hot pursuit and narrowly missing him as the door slammed behind him.

Outside, Roy was waiting for him, the fairy nowhere to be seen.

"Are you alright?" Roy felt a bit ridiculous for asking such a dumb question. Of course Marth was. The gash was already healing.

"Yes," Marth shot past. "Run!"

Roy felt better hearing those words anyway. He was close on Marth's heels as he burst into flame and they disappeared over the hills.

»»««»»

They stopped once they had reached the wood and threw themselves down under the trees.

Roy wiggled over to Marth on his stomach like a puppy. "Now what?" He asked, staring down into Marth's face, who was lying on his back.

"I don't know," Marth flopped his hand in Roy's face. "Get your face out of mine."

"Gah," Roy stuffed his head back and scrunched his nose like a cat that gets blown in the face. "My face wasn't _in _yours." Umm. That sounded.. odd. He dismissed it. More importantly to the current situation, they both heard some strange slight rustling, like many someones were trying to sneak up on them.

An attack. They exchanged glances. Kidnappers. Marth's lips twitched into a grim smile. Word couldn't have spread that quickly. He'd let himself get captured just one last time, for the fun of it. Eventually word _would _spread and these games would no longer be safe, in terms of fire nymph halflings.

»»««»»

When Marth awoke, he was, predictably, alone, and no trace of Roy was to be seen. As all other times, he woke up bound. This time he was shackled to a wall in a position that forced him to stand. Not the worst situation he'd ever woken up to. He could simply melt the shackles and escape through the window. He began heating the metal that was touching his skin. It glowed purple, then blue, and then steadily white before becoming flexible enough for him to easily slip his wrists out of the badly melted and twisted chains. He stepped away from the wall and stretched, feeling a bit dizzy. Judging by the light coming through the somewhat small window, it was early morning. He should move. Word certainly would have gotten around by now. Altea's enemies would surely enjoy capturing him and starving him until he died. That wasn't physically wounding him with a weapon or drowning him and it would guarantee a rather slow and uncomfortable death. He felt he would much rather not stay for that. He looked about the cell. Roy had been here, in a nearby cell, but he must have recovered faster and already left, thinking Marth was the one recovered and already ahead by now. Marth frowned. Again it was proven to him that he'd never match up to Roy. He ran his hand along the wall under the window and stepped back. It wasn't too high. He'd make the jump. Backing up to the opposite wall, Marth readied to run.

_Click, clank, screek!_

Marth jumped and his head involuntarily snapped to the door. The old handle was turning. He fell into a cold sweat. Now was not the time for visitors. Marth ran at the window, the door opened, he jumped, nearly pitching over with the effort, lights going off blindingly across his shaking vision, there was a shout, he burst into flames and was through the window in an instant. Landing on the other side, he ran, his insides rattling strangely within his hollow-feeling stomach.

»»««»»

Marth slowed when he reached the hills. Odd. He felt somewhat tired. Somehow, he couldn't remember the last time he had been actually tired. He needed to rest. This wouldn't do at all. Marth stopped and tried to shake his vision clear. It was blurring disturbingly. _They must have drugged me in hopes that it could stop my escape._ Marth doubled over and fell to his knees, over taken by a sudden explosion of nausea accompanied by a whizzing dizziness in his head. He felt he desperately needed to throw up. Crawling off the path, he emptied his insides under some convenient bushes. That felt better, but he was still tired. Terribly so. He needed to rest in a safe place no one would find him. He didn't have the strength to run.

Shaking and bleary-eyed, Marth tried to carefully crawl back to the path and continue on. He cursed the steepness of these hills and the endless amount of stones and twigs that dug into his hands and did little to improve his grip. And no matter how much he failingly tried to convince himself that his vision should clear up any time now and allow him to avoid the things that hideously stabbed at his hands and knees, it just got worse. This poison was something else and it was making him feel like his stomach was wiggling nastily down into his toes. Inevitably his left hand slipped on a particularly large rock and his balance tipped off. He shut his eyes and tried not to flinch as he rolled down the hill and twigs and stones and dry, prickly weeds tore at his skin and clothes, scraping his hands and face to rawness and blood. At last his body whacked to a dull stop at the bottom. He was afraid for the moment to move, wondering mildly just how many joins he twisted and bones he broke. He had no feeling in his legs and therefore was ignorant of the fact that his boots and socks were sogging in the brook he'd halfway fallen into. A rock was painfully pressing into the back of his neck and head and his arm was twisted back in a vaguely impossible position. Marth opened his eyes at last. So much for a careful and dignified descent. He rolled over and surveyed his damage. It could have been worse, he had to admit. He was already healing and his stomach wasn't rolling like the sea as much anymore. As soon as he could, he pulled himself to his feet and patiently ignored the soppy squelching of his boots and looked for landmarks. As he had suspected, he had accidentally found his way here again. He was in a quiet little valley through which ran a brook, the obvious reason for which he was now a wet rag. If one went southeast along the brook they would eventually leave the valley and come upon an old, battered shed that sat creakily and comfortably sandwiched between the edge of the brook and the magic moors that stretched out behind it. To Marth it was a happy sight indeed. This place was kin to enchanted forests in the way that you could never get here if you were looking for it and unless you really needed to get here. The shed was the enchanted home of Popo and Nana, twin wizard and witch friends of his and Roy's from some years back, and was much nicer inside than out. He made his way over and knocked on the broken, sagging door, glad for a place to rest. He felt his nausea returning.

»»««»»

Roy chewed his finger nails, pacing up and down the entire length of Marth's room. It was late morning and Marth was nowhere to be found. He wasn't here when Roy got here, which meant that he was out there somewhere. But the trouble was that Roy couldn't go looking for Marth if he couldn't sense him. And just a minute after he arrived, Marth disappeared from his senses entirely. Marth could jolly well have fallen down a bottomless pit or leaped straight off the face of the earth for all he knew. He hated waiting. It was dangerous out there for Marth and dancing in a fairy ring or whatever he was doing was certainly not what the stupid prince was supposed to be doing. Roy's fingers shot off sparks of irritation and he quickly reined in his temper. Setting Marth's room on fire in his absence wasn't what he should be doing either.

He forced himself into a chair. He needed to stop pacing and sit down. He needed to think about this logically. If Marth was gone from his senses, there was something magical obviously going on. He sat, wiggling one foot with impatience. He scratched his elbow, then his chin. In the end, the most likely answer was for Marth to be in either another dimension or an area made undetectable with spells. Roy's temper flared again and he pulled off his boot and chucked it at the wall, pretending it was Marth's head, which left a very satisfying shoe print. Fortunately, he didn't clean his boots often. Therefore the mark had been left easily. On the other hand, he'd just created more work for himself. He made a mental note to wash it off before Marth returned and went bananas from the thought of dirt inside his chambers.

"Idiot!" Roy moaned sufferously, pulling his bangs down over his eyes. "Where did you get your sorry ass stuck this time?"

He began pacing again, restless.

»»««»»

Hearing the knocking, Nana arose from her parchment and ink and walked to the door, quill still in hand. Popo hardly spared a glance upward from his thick old dusty volumes of _Anxin Helvarn _and _Bestiary of the Undead_, his spectacles scootching gradually downward so that they were nearly perching at the very tip of his upturned nose.

"Gloogphhhh!" Nana wailed. She had just opened the door and Marth collapsed into the room as the door gave way, nearly flattening Nana into a crepe as they thudded to the floor.

Popo jumped and his glasses flew off his nose and sailed across the table, skipping off the other end and clattering to the floor. He jerked around to look at the mess. He squinted.

"Popo?" Nana was staring at him upside down. "Marth just used me as his pillow."

"Is he, uh, alright? Apart from fainting that is..." Popo summoned his glasses and stuffed them on, getting a better look now.

"I think his tummy hurts," Nana offered as helpfully as a squished pigeon can.

"We should, umm, uh, get him on the bed..I think," Popo rubbed at the bridge of his nose, looking anxious. He generally didn't talk too much, so at the moments that he did talk he sounded very awkward and 'um, uh's were very common in his speeches.

He crouched down and set to rolling Marth's dead weight off of Nana. She wiggled like a rat that has been knocked onto its back and then hopped up, straightening her fur-rimmed cape. Together, they dragged Marth to Popo's bed and disposed of him there. Then Popo began the examination. He checked the prince's breath(declaring it stinky), lifted his eyelids and peered at each unconscious eyeball in turn, tested for pulse, looked in his ears(here he commented that Marth should clean his ears more), felt his forehead to check the temperature, and at last straightened up. In a half-voice he said a few words that sounded vaguely like, "_Arthun xlix poiesun irsthil," _and his hovering hands made a dragging motion above Marth's torso, guiding a strange, bluey-tinged liquid out of the boy's mouth. Still guiding it through the air with one hand, Popo reached for one of the many vials he kept on his belt, unstoppered it, then brought it up to eye level and guided the substance in, quarking the bottle after it.

"Poison," said Nana, her eyes wide.

Popo nodded, his face grim. "But it doesn't, uh, make sense for a normal poison to, umm, affect him. His body should have.. rejected it."

Nana's eyes popped. "But magics don't work on them!" She flailed her arms like a windmill for emphasis, accidentally throwing her quill.

"But," said Popo slowly, "mixing poison with fire nymph blood would probably do the, uh..." He trailed off, having forgotten the word.

"Do the trick," Nana piped. "Study the poison, see what you can find out, maybe."

"Mm-hmm," said Popo, his ability for intelligent speech trickling away with increasing velocity. He sat down to his table, lit a candle and held the vial up to it, saying quiet spells.

»»««»»

It was possibly afternoon when Marth woke. He was a smidgen sore, but otherwise fine. Nothing time wouldn't cure. Then he remembered what happened and leaped out of bed - only to crack foreheads with Popo, who had been bent over him to check his temperature.

"Owwwww!" Wailed Popo in dismay, tumbling backward from the force.

"Oh, sorry!" Marth flinched, then cringed as Popo thudded into a heap, his robes and feet flying up after him and catching Marth in the face. "Ow. Let me help you up." Fortunately Popo was one to be prepared for all sorts of situations and hideous happenings and always had protection spells on his vials to keep them from breaking, thus the reason he hadn't squashed them all in the fall.

Popo grumbled something crossly in a different tongue and Marth felt glad that to him it was simply gibberish as he pulled the poor wizard to his feet. Popo brushed his robes off with a great whoosh of dust flying into the air. Snatching his oversized hat up he pulled it onto his head and straightened his glasses and the turned to stare strictly at Marth, almost as if the disgruntled wizard was expecting an explanation for Marth's uncalled for behavior of forehead bashing and lord knows what else. Marth only managed an apologetic half smile. Somewhere in the background Nana giggled and teased Popo, saying she'd wash his mouth out with bubbles. Then she turned her attention to Marth.

"Good afternoon, sleepy pickle," she babbled, for some reason waving at him as energetically as if he were standing a mile away.

"Good afternoon," Marth smiled. Nana was always a pleasant person to see. She was like a very silly little sister to him and Roy. Speaking of Roy. His stomach gave a sudden lurch and he covered his mouth with his hand, remembering the morning's strange poison-induced nausea. He still had no idea for certain what had happened to him and whether or not he was safe. What if he'd been drugged too? What if he had been unable to get far and was dying somewhere halfway to the castle? He had to go find him.

"Not so fast," Popo said, as firmly as he could manage. "I'm, uh, sure that Roy's...just fine."

"You don't sound like it," Marth muttered darkly, then shut his mouth before Popo's glare could become murderous. It was better not to tease any kind of wizard for his speaking disabilities. Marth vaguely remembered to wonder where Popo had even gotten the slightest idea of what he was planning.

After that, Nana had invited him to lunch over which Popo, with a considerable amount of help from Nana, managed very slowly and very painfully to explain the reason that the drug was able to affect him. As Popo had predicted, they had used fire nymph blood - Marth's very own at that. Here Marth put in that it was rather impossible for any rumors to have gotten far enough that someone would use that, but Popo waved away his interruption informing him that after doing investigation by way of spells he found that someone at Marth's party, particularly a wizard, had carried the information back to his master and therefore the knowledge was used in attempt to kill him. This caused Marth to sourly recall the dagger-happy hooded assassin the night before. The rest of the conversation lasted until the end of lunch. When it was over, Marth insisted to a whining Nana that didn't want him to go just yet that it was high time he did leave because if he didn't go now, it would likely become even more dangerous and he would likely be unable to leave altogether. And in such a way he set out again after thoroughly convincing the twins that he was perfectly fine now and that the effects of the poison had entirely been reversed. In truth, he still should have rested like any sane person after being poisoned and affected by it. One must remember that it is only things that affect normal humans that don't affect fire nymphs. Had if been a normal poison he wouldn't be in this mess and his head wouldn't feel like an exceptionally fat little dwarf was sitting on it and stomping his feet each time he felt displeased. Which seemed to happen quite often, seeing as this was obviously a very spoiled, bad tempered dwarf. Marth simply gritted his teeth and stood it, setting out and leaving the comfort of the little battered shed behind.

As soon as Marth had crossed the brook and started up the hill, all signs had vanished that there had ever been a shed or moor or even water there. It was just an empty dusty ravine at the bottom where Marth should have landed. It was lucky for him that that place popped in and out at the most unexpected and most convenient moments. He looked back forward. It was time to go looking for Roy.

»»««»»

Meanwhile, Roy had been attacking Marth's stalls and mucking them out and not giving horse or human any peace if they dared venture near his venting spot in the stables. His afternoon chores he had all completed before morning was over in his rage and frustration. He was frustrated with Marth for being slower than usual in an escape and for just disappearing off like that. However, he was far more angry with himself for not having payed much attention to _where _his senses had indicated Marth was that morning. This little slip up could have very well caused Marth's death. He finally faced the option he'd been dodging, the thought that was driving him mad as he tried so hard not to consider it. If Marth was dead, he wouldn't be able to sense him. It was as simple as that. If it was true, what would Roy do? He was a nobody. He'd always been someone insignificant, even in his own family. Marth was his only friend, the only person who had ever made him feel like he was someone who mattered and had value. Even if they did, admittedly, argue often even now. It was all in the fun, right? Roy gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening determinedly. No. He tossed the thought aside like week-old unneeded rubbish. He refused to believe Marth dead unless he was presented with a real legitimate corpse that hadn't been tampered with by magic to make it look like the annoying wretch of a prince. He swept a bit harder than was necessary and had to choke on the sudden dust cloud he'd caused to arise.

And then it happened.

Something flickered across his senses, faint, but sure. He was almost certain that it was Marth. Giving a sudden, to the stable hands, seemingly inexplicable half whoop, half shriek of fierce delight, he rushed from the stables and out of sight, bursting into flame once he was far enough away from the watching eyes. He didn't stop to consider why he was so eager when he had been so frustrated with Marth only several moments ago.

»»««»»

Well that was odd. If Marth's senses weren't playing tricks on him, Roy was approaching as well. And quickly at that. In fact, he had no time to dodge to the side as an orange streak entered his field of vision ahead and the two solidly collided, flames spuffing out, and they went tumbling together, rolling to a stop at the base of a tree where Roy's head made contact with the trunk with an audible loud _CRACK_, possibly the sound of his skull, causing enough friction to stop their momentum.

"Well that was a lousy landing," Roy groaned, shoving Marth off of his stomach. "Oh, hello Marth."

"Oh, hello?" Marth felt some annoyance rising into his throat. "That's all you've got to say? After running off like that and leaving me to wonder whether or not you were fine, worrying about if you'd been poisoned as well and dying halfway to the castle?" He'd seized Roy by the front of his tunic and shook him.

"What, what now?" Roy's face was riddled with confusion. "What poison, what toothpaste? Get a hold of yourself, calm down and explain what you mean. You were poisoned?" He gripped Marth's shoulders, looking into his eyes, searching his face anxiously. They were inches apart.

"Poison mixed with fire nymph blood," Marth said, ignoring the toothpaste.

Roy's eyes narrowed, a dangerous look sliding into his expression. "They would dare," he growled menacingly.

"Yes, they did poison me, and they used my blood in the mixture, the reason it worked," Marth stated hotly, "the exact reason I was worried about you being poisoned as well."

"Right," Roy frowned, but then his expression and voice took on a lighter tone as he looked up into Marth's eyes again, saying, "Why aren't you dead then? I felt you disappear from my field of sense just after I reached the castle. Then I had to wonder if you died." His tone was slightly embarrassed as he admitted this. "I thought it was all my fault."

Marth gave a chuckle and rested his forehead against Roy's, closing his eyes momentarily, enjoying the comfort of having him near. He'd missed him even if it had only been a few hours of separation. Roy blinked a few times more than was necessary at the sudden affectionate gesture. Marth usually didn't hand those out because he had the silly notion in his head that since he was going to be king one day hugs and other cuddly things were prohibited. It was nice, he decided. Odd, but nice.

"I chanced upon Popo and Nana's shed after I fell," Marth said, opening his eyes.

"You fell," Roy said nearly blankly, realizing that he was still holding Marth close and that Marth's hands had relaxed and were resting on his chest. Now he decided it was just plain odd.

"Then they, Popo, I mean, cured me and I went looking for you after I'd woken up." The moment was obviously over because Marth sat up and then got off, brushing the dirt the tumble had collected out of his tunic and the seat of his pants, straightened his collar and looked as dignified as he usually did. Roy wondered dryly if his mind was just playing tricks on him and messing with him for the fun of it. He crossed his eyes to stare at a fruitfly that just kerplolupped itself down on his nose and just made itself comfortable there, washing its hands.

"Iw," he wrinkled his nose and flicked off the disgusting bug.

Marth seemed to be waiting for something, his arms crossed, his foot tapping on the grass, looking down at Roy.

"What?" Roy said, scratching his offended nose.

"Are you going to lie around in the dirt for the rest of the day like a lame old horse, or are you moving your lazy bones and going home with me?" Marth questioned.

"Right. On my way, O Prince," Roy drawled, pushing himself to his feet. "You're not even worried that I cracked my skull on that tree and that it might hurt, too." He gripped. Marth gave him a look and he chortled.

»»««»»

Over the next few days, Marth made a full recovery from the poison and the headache-dwarf. He had earned a round scolding from his father for doing something as foolish as letting himself get captured, especially when now it was at the most dangerous levels and everyone would be out to kill him and succeed. It was a very long, tiresome lecture, one that Marth wished he could have missed out on. Because when the King got started on a lecture he made sure to do the job thoroughly. If he so chose, as he had chosen to this time, he could drag on for hours and hours. Marth several times dozed off during the speech only to jerk awake suddenly and say, "Yes, yes, I understand," to any questions he was asked, which earned him many odd looks from the King, who was really becoming suspicious about Marth's eagerness to please. Marth was personally very glad that, unlike Roy, he wouldn't give himself away by drooling and slurping like a bulldog as the aforementioned attendant had done on several occasions when he'd dosed off during some of Marth's own lectures. It was perhaps the only thing that got him to the end of it. Had the King known, he would have given his poor son a second round of scolding on the importance of princes and future kings listening to what they were being told, especially if it was important information and so on.

Time wore painfully on as it slowly slothed by. Marth could no longer go on hunts for the dangers of it. Roy was still his attendant, but he was now required to have an entire escort of eleven soldiers if he went outside into the gardens, or even on a morning ride. Going outside of the castle walls was absolutely out of the question, by order of the King, and he would throw Marth into the dungeon himself if the prince dared to disobey and that's what it took to keep him from roaming and nosing his way into trouble. He was constantly watched. And Marth hated it. But what he hated the most was that he never had any moments alone with Roy anymore. Roy was considered to be Marth's accomplice and primary source of mischief and therefore someone who would gladly help Marth break rules and all safety measures. Which was, admittedly, quite true, but Marth thought they didn't need to be so harsh about it. They could at least let him have time alone in the evenings without watching Roy like a criminal who was gearing up for something abominable. All of it was making Marth's eyes itchy and by the end if two weeks and a half of glass princess treatment he felt more than ready to go to a farflung place just to scream without anyone rushing to his side with worried expressions and questions as to his good health and mental state of mind and whether or not he had seen any vicious attackers. It was maddening. Despite being a normally very patient personage in a very happy state of mind, the crown prince found himself longing to bash the heads of his guards together and rip their hair out by the roots just to get them to leave him alone. But of course none of that would do him any good anyway, so it was useless to hope for such satisfying things to happen to the eleven most boring guards the King could think to assign him.

A month passed. Enemies tried to threaten Altea into surrendering the prince. To no avail.

A second month passed. Marth did not like where this was going. Were they trying to entirely separate him from Roy?

A third month passed. Marth caught the King trying to convince Roy to get married seeing as Marth apparently had no more need for him.

That was enough! Marth wouldn't take any more of this madness.

»»««»»

It was well past the middle of the night when Roy awoke suddenly to hear his floorboards screek under a foot that obviously didn't know which boards were creeky and which ones weren't in his room. So it must be an unwanted nightly visitor. He personally really did not want it to be the King. He was positively sick of how his majesty had begun dogging him to get married. If the King wanted that badly to dispose of him and no longer have to care for him he could at least just say a simple, "Pack your bags and go." But nooo, of course he couldn't. He wanted to be _courteous._ Yet another of the annoying habits of royals, especially kings. It would damage his good image if he simply tossed out his deceased friend's son onto the streets without even a proper good-bye and fare thee well. Roy gritted his teeth. Why couldn't the damn person, whoever it was, and whoever this whoever was they were certainly not the King because he was a good deal fatter and heavier, just leave him alone to rest in peace? He was too sleepy to deal with this. Rising from his slumbering, Roy stood, crossed to the figure and punched the mysterious unwanted sleep-disturbing whoever in the face, sending the figure reeling back from the sudden strong impact of Roy's fist and the pain it caused. As the figure stumbled and tried to regain balance again, Roy tackled it and seized the offender by the front of its tunic.

"Who are you?" He hissed, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "And what business have you skulking about my room in the middle of the night like a great big hulking rat?"

"Lay off, Roy," wheezed Marth's voice, "or you're sure to squash my supper out of me. I don't appreciate the immense hulk of weight you just dropped onto me after punching me in the face, which I'll remind you not to do again."

Roy could only groan. Why did he never pay attention to where his senses indicated was Marth's location? Obligingly he climbed off, then pulled Marth up to his feet.

"That's better," said Marth, brushing himself off.

"Well?" Roy frowned, rubbing at his left eyebrow. "I still would like to know what you're doing in here, not letting me sleep in peace."

"That part is simple," said Marth with a matter of fact sort of tone. "I'm kidnapping you on my way to escape from the castle. Are you coming or not? Decide quickly, because I don't have all night to wait for you."

"Right, right, kidnapping." Roy stared skeptically at Marth's cloaked figure. "Kidnapping when you can't even see well in the dark. You're a bit sloppy. Anyway, before you open your lousy mouth and start complaining again, of course I'm going. You should be used to that by now. Just give me a few moments to change out of my night clothes and get my things..." Roy was already half-dressed, sword buckled to his side, and nearly done stuffing his things into his small satchel.

Marth smiled to himself. Roy was fast. He liked that. Within minutes Roy was also ready and Marth climbed onto the windowsill, preparing to jump.

"Wait!" Roy held up a hand.

"What?" Marth turned, looking on the verge of annoyance.

"You're using a window," he stated.

Marth frowned. "Roy. If I'd have wanted you to state the obvious, I'd have told you to."

"There are guards just outside that window, and I wouldn't recommend it unless you want to be caught that badly," Roy said, feeling mildly annoyed with the empty-headed prince.

"Oh that," Marth smiled, his lips lifting above his teeth in a way that made Roy feel that he was being unnecessarily creepy and overly dramatic, "I took care of them a quarter of an hour ago."

"What did you do, pour boiling hot pasta sauce over them?" Roy felt a tad sceptical.

"No, you idiot," Marth slapped his forehead. "I knocked them out. Obviously. Just how stupid do you get?"

"Well, excuuuuse me, Princess," here Roy bowed in a most overly exaggerated fashion, ignoring Marth's insulted look and opening of mouth to object, "but how did you expect me to know what you did when you were acting like a flying spaghetti monster just magically dropped by and helped you take care of all of them?"

The only response Roy got was Marth's very satisfying groan.

»»««»»

Once they had left the castle grounds behind Roy asked for the plan - where were they going, where would they spend the night, and, most importantly, how would they avoid all the creepy-crawlies, namely all the people that wanted to kill them.

"I have no idea," Marth said quite truthfully. "All I know is that we are going to try to find, if we can, Popo and Nana."

This of course caused Roy's anger to erupt. The magical twins could only be found at the most random and most dire moments. One did not simply find Popo and Nana by _searching_ - the spells did not allow it. To this Marth only replied that one does not simply _walk_ into Mordor, and see how far _that_ went. Roy quietly raged to himself, promising his beast that one day he would really enjoy the novelty of strangling Marth to death.

They walked well into late night, seeing as flaming would have been more effective for fast travel, but unfortunately Popo and Nana could not be found that way, and eventually Roy convinced Marth that they both needed sleep and if they didn't stop and get it the sun would rise any moment now and rob them of any slim chance they had had at getting even a tiny amount rest. Therefore they stopped for the remainder of the night after finding suitable trees to sleep in. These turned out to be large old apple trees in an old orchard that probably belonged to an old farmer to match, Roy reasoned. If it was so, even skulking creepers wouldn't be likely to look here. Creeps, just like normal humans, did not always have the patience to deal with grumpy old folks who wouldn't appreciate them poking about on their farms and interfering with their crops and the like. So if the previous speculations were true, it was probably safe to catch some shut-eye for an hour or two before moving on. And just as well. Unlike Marth, Roy could not run eternally on four hours of sleep and no more. He needed his rest if he was to go on through the day without dropping down in a faint from lack of proper sleep.

»»««»»

The sky was dim and faded gray when Marth disturbed Roy's sleep once more. Was it two hours, three? Roy couldn't tell. His eyes felt thick with sleep and his eyelids felt as if they bore painfully peeling week-old blisters. He was sore and stiff from spending the night in a cold hard tree and his bottom was very upset and complained to him loudly of the lousy treatment it had received from an inconvenient knot in the branch that was pressing into him for those hours. All together, he felt painful, unrested, and rather grouchy. But it was time to move, and not to complain. Roy became a silent mutterer for the next half hour and said dark things inside his head that he was privately relieved that Marth could not hear and not scold him about. As they left, neither prince nor attendant payed any mind to the sign they passed that read, in large green letters that were rimmed with yellow, _Hero's Apple Farm._

They continued on. Roy was feeling great irritation with Marth for having come up with such an awful plan and not even having taken two moments to stop and think about the ridiculousness of it. They'd taken no provisions with them, therefore they'd have to hunt along the way. Not that there was anything wrong with hunting - Roy loved hunting, perhaps even more than Marth himself did. What was bothersome in this case was that they would have to hunt while at the same time avoiding the creepy-crawlies, as Roy had become fond of calling them. And that was certain to be difficult. Nevertheless, grumping wouldn't really get him anywhere, since Marth was clearly determined to go through with this and it would only waste his own energy, Roy quashed his inner rebellion and went on following behind the prince, always looking back over his shoulder and expecting to spot pursuers.

Well past midday, he finally did sense someone following them. And it displeased Roy. Lagging slightly, he turned around, watching and waiting for the rat to enter his field of vision. At last, calmly approaching, there came two figures from amongst the bushes that surrounded the grassy dip below the hill on which he and Marth now stood. They were both blonde and tall, and from the look of them both formidable opponents. Long pointed ears. Nothing like his and Marth's. He felt he didn't like the look of them and the way they were heading straight for them like piglets to slops. There was something wrong with that. The two men were likely trackers from what their garb said about them. Simple, out of the way clothing, short tunics of dull color, tight trousers, long unsheathed daggers on their belts, worn and dusty black and brown boots. One of them wore bandaging at his fingers and wrists, head and face wrappings of similar make, his eyes his only visible facial feature. The other was younger and wore gloves whose fingers had been hewn crudely from them so that a few loose threads every here and there were visible. The older of the two also carried a long, curved horn on his person and Roy had the crawling feeling that whoever or whatever that was used to call didn't have good intentions for them. And still they advanced. Well. If a fight was what they wanted, then a fight is what they'd get. He narrowed his eyes as he watched their steady approach.

"What are you doing over there, Roy?"

Roy whipped around to see Marth standing at the top of the rise, looking down at him with incredulity written all over his handsome young face. Roy gave a tired smile that wasn't a smile.

"That," he said, jerking a thumb in the direction behind him, "is what's been slowing me down." Marth's face paled. Roy turned back once more to face the oncoming men.

"Ho there!" Shouted the younger of the two as he ran into earshot.

"No ho, thank you," said Roy, drawing his sword.

"Easy now, friends, you jump to arms too fast! Why so hostile a reaction?" He looked utterly relaxed as he spoke. "You don't even know our intents, jumpy fellows."

"I'm sure I have a pretty good idea," said Roy in dry tones. "Marth, draw your sword. This doesn't look like a clean case you'll scrape out of without a fight."

"That, or we could not stick around to see the results instead of directly engaging combat." Marth frowned at Roy. "Where, may I ask, have you forgotten your brains?"

"No, you may not ask," Roy smiled grimly, returning his attention to the trackers. "Go on, tell me your intent then. I'll be the judge of if I'm right or wrong."

"Well..." The younger tracker seemed to be examining them, rubbing at his chin in thought, stroking a nonexistent beard. "It really isn't in our orders to fight or harm them, is it Sheik?"

The second tracker was close behind now. He placed a hand on the former's shoulder. "Just do whatever it takes to capture them. Would you like to make this long winded, or would you rather waste less time? If you don't surrender, a fight is inevitable."

"So pretty much I have every right to be hostile, seeing as that's been your intent the entire time." Roy sighed. "You really like taking all day with these things, don't you? Whatever, tough luck for you because we're not interested in surrendering. In fact, that word doesn't belong in my dictionary." He adjusted his hold on the hilt, tightening his grip as he pointed the sword at the trackers.

"Don't they usually say that such and such word doesn't exist in their dictionary, not doesn't belong?" The younger tracker was scratching the side of his face in thought.

Sheik snorted. "Maybe he doesn't know the proper term." Roy mentally sat on his irritation as he heard Marth chuckle behind him.

"Okay, okay, I can see you're raring for a fight already," the younger tracker was flopping the attempt to not smile. Drawing his dagger, he took a steady stance and managed to relax his face into a near blank expression. Sheik was close to him, his own two daggers drawn, naked blades flashing in the late afternoon sun. Marth's eyes hurt and he was forced to squint as the light reflected back and shone into his face. He then drew his own sword, the blade ringing out of the scabbard. With a battle yell, Roy lept forth, his sword glinting at the promise of enemy blood running along the length of its sleek steel body.

»»««»»

It was hard to breathe. At some point during the fight, Marth had lost track of Roy and now one of the trackers had launched smoke bombs into the fray. He couldn't see. His eyes were blurring and tearing and coughing was hard to restrain. He shot random streaks of fire into the surrounding fog, keeping anything that would dare come near at least a meter away until he could recover enough to properly continue the fight. His senses vaguely indicated that Roy way further away, somewhere off to his left, still clashing with the trackers. He waited until the smoke had mostly passed before standing and looking around, searching for his attendant. Oddly enough, the space had fallen silent. Roy was nearby, he was certain of that. But the trackers? He shook his head, frowning and gripped his sword harder. This was not the first time he wished that fire nymph blood was not the only kind that he could sense. He walked quietly in the direction in which he had sensed Roy, all the while glancing around for the trackers. All was continually silent however, which wasn't at all reassuring. It was then that he nearly tripped over Roy's limp figure on the ground and had to take several steps back so as not to fall on him. Roy was halfway with his face in the dirt, blood gushing from a gash on his forehead, his face, although unconscious, strained and pale, wet from sweat, and his hand still gripping tightly the hilt of his sword. There were scorch marks in the grass, presumably from when he'd fired at them and narrowly missed. Marth crouched to better examine the already healing damage, still keeping a wary eye out for the trackers. He bent closer, wiping some of the blood and sweat from the fallen attendant's face. It really didn't make any sense for Roy to have given up so quickly or be beaten so easily. It was out of character, not in his nature to do such a thing. There had to be a reason. His finger tips brushed across Roy's cheek and he felt powder. He checked the pads. Sure enough, his fingers were coated with a thin layer of grey powder that clung to his finger ridges, looking as if it was trying to eat into his skin like acid. He decided not to smell that for poison testing. Likely Roy had gotten too much a lung-full of this dust and it certainly hadn't done him any good. He glanced around again for any sign of the trackers before hurriedly wiping his hand on the hip of his tunic and returning his attention to Roy again. They needed to get out of here. He guessed that dust must have magical properties, not to mention some fire nymph component, to have worked in the first place. If that was the case Roy needed immediate attention and possibly an emergency washing. And he would have to carry Roy because he clearly wouldn't carry himself. Marth sighed and weaseled his hands under Roy's shoulders and tried to heft his dead weight upward. Imagine the weight of a large cast iron pot. If you have ever dealt with cast iron, you know that it can be tremendously heavy. Now imagine the weight of several cast iron pots combined. Heavy indeed. Now picture trying to haul all that weight up a flight of stairs and trying not to spill the water inside of each pot. That is much like what Marth's attempt to pull Roy up felt like. He was too heavy for Marth and he was wearing heavy armour in addition, as if it wouldn't be hard enough to lift him without that. Marth gave out an involuntary loud moan from the effort and nearly slid under his senseless charge. He let go and walked around to Roy's feet, taking hold of the thick-ankled boots.

"Sorry, Roy," Marth shook his head, frowning, "but it looks like you'll have to be dragged. You should really be a lot lighter if you want people to carry you, you heavy lumpen thing." And with that he turned around and took off with as much speed as he could manage toward the nearest river.

»»««»»

He was right. It had gotten up Roy's nose. A close examination of the younger boy's nostrils was all that was necessary to confirm Marth's suspicions. He bit back the curses that flooded his mind and wiped his hands again on his tunic from the dust. Shoving Roy into the water, he slid in after to make sure that the rapids wouldn't carry his attendant away as he tried to clean him of the dust that was slowly starting to eat away at his skin. Clamping down on Roy's shoulder with his right hand to keep him in place, Marth turned away to cup water with his left hand, carefully letting it run over Roy's face as he did his best to wash off the ever-clinging degrader with his thumb. The more contact it had with skin, the harder it was to remove. At this point washing had little to no effect and Marth ended up burning it off, feeling grateful that fire could not harm either of them. The burning seemed to work well enough so Marth returned to washing the dirt and dried blood from Roy's face. After a moment he shook his head and sighed. Who was he trying to fool? Roy was still in trouble. Freeing the outside did nothing to help his lung-full of powdered poison. He needed fire inside his lungs. Marth pulled Roy up into a sitting position in the shallows of the water and took several deep breaths to fill his own lungs with enough air. Then he kneeled, taking Roy's face between his hands, pressed his mouth to Roy's still lips, forcing his mouth open with his tongue, and breathed fire into him when he had clear passage.

When he was done, he pulled away gasping for breath. He sat there for a long while, hugging Roy's still figure, the side of his face pressed against Roy's breastplate, quietly listening to his attendant's heartbeat begin to gain strength again, his breathing to normalize, and the color return to his face. He felt so relieved that he kissed Roy's forehead and then his mouth again. He slumped beside Roy then, and if they weren't in so much danger he would have laughed aloud. He felt utterly soggy, soaked through from having to sit in a river and wash Roy. But it didn't matter. Roy was alive and going to be alright. He closed his eyes. He was tired by now, but he knew that he should not sleep. They should get moving again. If only Roy would just wake up. Marth felt that he could not drag Roy again, not any distance for the time being. The attendant was far too heavy. He decided to wait. Now was as good a time as any to rest.

A twig snapped.

Marth jerked awake. How long had he dozed, minutes, an hour? There was someone nearby. He arose, as quietly as he could from the rushing waters and scanned the surrounding trees. There was a shadow in a tree across on the other bank, but it had disappeared by the time Marth's eyes had clear focus on the spot. He felt a warning shiver run the length of his back. The trackers were back.

»»««»»

It was early morning when Roy opened his eyes at last. And he was alone. He jumped to his feet, looking around wildly for Marth. He didn't dare call for him. Who knows what trouble that could cause and whose attention it could attract. _Calm down, think._ He closed his eyes and tried to sense Marth. It was a cold trail. Marth must have been very far away. He wasn't dead, at least, Roy could tell that much. But he was far. As his eyes adjusted to seeing after being asleep for so long, he noticed signs all around signaling that there had been a fight. Charred areas in the grass, on trees, broken twigs and trampled undergrowth. Damn it. How did he sleep through that? And why didn't they kill him the rest of the way? Perhaps they'd mistaken him for already dead. Or just plain ignored him. That wasn't an unheard of option. It had happened plenty before and was certain to happen many a more times yet to come.

"Tch," Roy ran a hand through his messy hair, latching onto a handful of fiery locks and tugged on them, only half his mind present. He needed to eat. His stomach was empty and his energy was shot and bleeding on the floor. He might as well refuel if he wanted to run and find Marth. The prince was too far away to make it on this low. Sliding his hand out of his hair, he lowered himself to a crouch at the river's edge, eyes darting in focus beneath the rushing watery surface. Silvery bodies slithered back and forth, in and out of reach, again and again in almost hypnotic patterns. He waited, then shot his hand into the water and seized the slimey middle of a fish and wrenched it out of the water. For a few moments it wriggled desperately and Roy's hand slid down its tail and then it leaped out of his grasp and thrashed back into the water, sending up a spray. Roy grunted and wiped the trickling droplets from his face with the back of his glove and stared back into the wavery depths of the river, eyes scanning carefully for the next likely fish to be caught. His mind wandered back to the odd distance that Marth and his captors seemed to have traveled over just half a day. Marth couldn't have run all that distance, dragging the trackers along behind him. They would have burned and disintegrated. And even if they would have found some way of not becoming toasted marshmallows, they still couldn't have figured out a way to navigate Marth like a gigantic flaming boar to get him to go where they wanted him to go. Roy stiffened. But wait...there was that old, battered horn one of the trackers had worn on his belt. And it was likely used to call something big. Something very big, indeed. Something large enough to ride on. Roy felt his stomach and innards drop into the river somewhere and continue to sink among his potential breakfasts. Scrambling to finally catch a fish, he yanked one out and bashed its head on a rock to stun it, then cooked it as he lept into a breakneck run in Marth's general direction, flaming on and off, his fire sputtering in and out for lack of energy to fuel it.

»»««»»

When Marth creaked his croaky lids open, he felt nasty. He'd been drugged with some sleeping drug or other and it had left a horrible sticky, rotty pumpkin sort of taste in his mouth. And it was afternoon. He absolutely abhorred sleeping until afternoon. And yet, here he was, sleeping slumped against a cold wall in a cell with some hot midday sunlight playing on his face from the small barred window whence it drifted down, not even having his hands restrained. Instead, his feet were shackled to the floor by his ankles for some unknown reason. Whoever those trackers were working for, he certainly was lacking in the compartment in which a brain should rest. He stretched, nearly folding himself in two to reach his boots, placing one hand on each ankle manacle and warmed his hands, the palms glowing ever so slightly as the temperature in them rose. Slowly, he could feel the metal beneath his hands growing warmer until it was almost as hot. Flexing his fingers, he dug into the molten manacles and pushed the melting areas apart. Peeling the rest off, he stood and shook the last of the liquid metal off his hands and wiped them on his tunic as he stretched his leg muscles. He then examined the cell, his eyes shifting about. Unlike the last time he was in a cell, the window was barred and far too small for him to jump out through. He eyed the old looking door to the cell. It was wooden, therefore it would burn. And he wasn't quite looking to start a castle fire. However, the battered, scratched up knob was metal and it looked more promising. Marth placed his hand on it - and immediately received a shock. He gave a yelp of surprise and jerked his hand back and gaped at the handle. Alright, perhaps this boss of theirs did have something jangling around in that hollow log of his. Marth heated his right hand ahead of time and then placed it upon the knob. Cheap tricks really weren't enough to keep him here. It warmed, changing colors.

But it refused to melt. Marth calmly applied more heat. And still it sat. Marth applied even more heat, his hand turning blue with the effort. For several more minutes, it refused to melt, and Marth felt a strange tingly feeling in his nails and finger tips. He stepped away from the door, sweat beading on his brow. Marth wiped it away. It was strange, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd actually sweated. He turned to stare sharply at the door. It was probably there to exhaust his fire temporarily. He narrowed his eyes at it.

"No, thank you," he said to the door in what was a terrible imitation of Roy's sarcastic tones, and flung as much fire at it as he could. The door exploded and wooden splinters flew about, some out into the hall beyond, some into the room. Marth shielded his face with his arms and waited for the smoke and dust to settle.

"Good morning," smiled the younger tracker from the now doorless doorway.

"You?" Marth pushed his dusty bangs out of his eyes.

"I'm Link, actually," he grinned, twiddling his thumbs inside his pockets.

"Tell me you weren't just out there waiting for me to take the door down," Marth felt incredulous.

"Of course I wasn't," Link's grin grew wider, "but you were making such a ruckus that my lunch had to wait. You know, we have our jobs." He took his left hand out of his pocket and waved it vaguely.

"That means you're even more incompetent if you were off gorging yourself like a swine instead of ensuring that I'd stay in my cell." Marth felt his expression twist into an involuntary disappointed and somewhat disgusted one.

"Well you gotta eat some time, and it's personally better when it's hot," Link said with a shrug, "I get hungry, too, you know?"

"Just get out of my way," Marth pushed past him with a note of annoyance in his voice. "And go finish your food."

"Hmm, fine, if you want to do it that way. It won't be very sweet, though, just so you know," the young Hylian called after him.

"Thanks, but I think I already knew."

Link stared after Marth's retreating figure from where he stood atop the remains of shattered door. "You're welcome."

»»««»»

From what Marth could see of this castle, it was familiar. Something about it was tickling in the back of his mind, warning him to be careful as he traveled through it in shadows. He couldn't quite pinpoint who and what it reminded him of. It was dark, oppressing. It felt like distant memories under fog, like the the surface of a lake that's impossible to see past winter fog at the top of an overlooking hill. It was patrolled by women soldiers with long curved swords at their belts and short veils about their lower faces. Their skin was somewhat dark toned as well. Carefully, Marth turned a corner into a wide, stone corridor. He felt a slight relief. It was empty. He crept along the wall even so, in case anyone should come rushing in. He had gotten somewhere over halfway across the length of the corridor when he heard a door from along the wall open right behind him.

"Marth? Is that you?" An almost familiar feminine voice called out behind him. He froze. He heard steady footsteps behind him. "Why, Marth, it really is you! All grown up now aren't you?"

He turned to look. It was a woman with dark skin and long red hair that was worn up in a high tail secured by a blood-red jewel. She, too, wore two long curved swords on her belt, but the veil of the others was absent. As he examined her, no recognition registered on his face. He did not recognize this woman. He reached for his sword hilt and found it was not there.

"No, no, honey, no!" She cried suddenly, lunging forward and grabbing his face between her hands and squishing his cheeks. "Don't say you don't remember me, ol' Nabooru! I used to play with you as a baby, remember? You were almost five, we ran around pretending to be chickens? You got to remember that, I visited so often back then! No, don't pull weapons on me now, hon!" Her eyes filled with tears and she presently released him to pull a handkerchief out of the bosom of her clothing to dab at her eyes, then blow her nose. Marth could only stare in dumbfounded shock. She then folded the handkerchief back up neatly and tucked it away.

"I'm sorry, I really don't recognize you," Marth managed.

"Ohhhh, oh," Nabooru moaned hoarsely in a mournful tone, clutching at her forehead with her right hand and at her impressive bosom with her left. "I should have visited more as you grew up, honey. Once when you were a new teen wasn't enough, I shouldda known. My bad, my fault!"

Marth shifted uncomfortably, feeling a vague odd sense of déjà vu.

"Ow, ow," Nabooru said, digging her fingernails into her scalp.

"Are you alright?" Marth questioned, half wary of whatever answer she might give.

"Pain in mah head," she half sang, massaging her scalp on the left side. "Right here."

Marth watched as she continued to massage at her scalp as she muttered odd things under her breath and occasionally sang out a word or two. "I suppose you are somewhat familiar," he admitted at last as she sang something out that sounded vaguely like '_Flowing water!_' as she took one hand away from her head to scratch her rear. That made her pause in mid scratch and turn to stare at him.

"You whaaa?" She gaped, goggling her eyes.

"I may recognize you now," he said, dismissing her expression of shocked delight. "Anyway, you know your way around, don't you?"

"Aha, mmhmm..?"

"Then please show me the way out," Marth stared her straight in the face. "I'm certain you don't want me to die here, and I certainly will if I stay here. I need to find Roy, do you understand?"

His question was answered with wavering silence.

"Please," he said again, earnestly now, "will you help me?"

Nabooru's expression was considering. "This is Ganondorf's castle," she said at last, her fingers drumming on her sword hilts.

»»««»»

A deep rumbling sound arose in the east. Marth glanced about warily as his steps brought him closer to the wall and then the sound was nearly upon him. He looked up. On the east wall of the battlements there stood the silhouettes of twelve knights, each with a glass of dim water in hand. And a toothbrush.

"You hear that, Prince Marth?" Sneered Ganondorf with a malicious grin from a balcony. "That is the Knights' Gurgle." He pulled a squishy-looking tomato from a jar he held in the crook of his elbow. Bringing it up to his nose, he gave it a nasty smile and popped it into his mouth, squelchy noises accompanying it on its way down.

"Is that supposed to hold any significance?" Marth looked up and questioned, feeling his right eyebrow twitching somewhere beneath his hair.

"No it doesn't," grumped the villain in obvious delight.

Marth felt keenly the waste of time. "You!" He nearly exploded at the foolish man, his fingers shooting off sparks. "Clumsy baffoon and a pathetic excuse of a villain!"

Ganondorf only smiled fatly and slurped another marinated tomato.

Ignoring the distasteful food, and the eater of distasteful food, Marth turned back to the still gurgling men. "And you up there," he shouted, to be heard above their enormously bubbly noise, "go home, knights, you are drunk!"

At that speech, one of the knights splooiied his salt water out and it came down on Marth's head. Marth fought to contain himself, and for several minutes there was a deep silence along the wall.

"Ew," said the prince. Several knights shuddered.

It was at that moment that they heard a loud yell and the clashing of swords break the outer silence. Marth took a few seconds to dry his hair with fire before turing towards the direction of the commotion. It was unmistakeable and had Roy's signature written all over it in flaming letters. There was a smoking dust cloud in the courtyard's gateway from which the sounds of fighting and groaning were coming. If Marth was correct, his attendant was enjoying every last bit of it. Ganondorf started shouting orders and a sea of boneheads poured forth on clattery legs, heading for the dust cloud as their master disappeared from the balcony above. Marth turned around and came face to face with Link and Sheik.

Link's smile was that of a Cheshire Cat. "Hello, poppet. Going somewhere?"

Marth narrowed his eyes. "Yes, and I'd like you to step aside."

"Oh, I would love to, certainly!" Link swung up his hand and bopped Marth on the nose. "Except we have strict orders to keep you here. And we'll be punished if you escape. You see?"

"Honestly, I don't really care if you get punished," Marth pushed his bangs out of his eyes and stared Link hard in the face. _In fact, I would rather you did, after all you've done._

Sheik took a step closer. "Tell me," he spoke in a level yet dangerous tone, "do you really want to be the one responsible for his sister's death?"

"Pardon?" Marth glanced from one Hylian to the other. Their expressions were grim.

"You see, the problem is that he's holding my sister captive," Link glanced sideways at Sheik.

"And if we don't obey his every order, her head will make an acquaintance with the guillotine," Sheik finished.

"He's blackmailing you," Marth said, the pieces of information falling in place together.

"Of course he is!" Link swung his arms out wide. "He's Ganondorf. The master of kidnapping innocent girls and manipulating the rest."

Sheik chuckled at Link's unintentional joke on the prince, making him grin at his glove as he straightened it.

"So I assume you want my help?" Marth questioned.

"Aha!" Link turned his attention away from his glove to grin at Marth instead. "See, you don't have a brain for nothing."

"What am I to do then?" Marth raised his eyebrow for the second time that afternoon.

"You come with me," Roy wrapped his hands around Marth's waist and launched him upward, gripping him by his legs as Marth's stomach hit Roy's spaulder and he hung down over his shoulder limply. Marth gasped as the air left his lungs and Roy shot forward with a burst of speed, the sound of a horn loud and clear cutting through the air behind them as Sheik raised the horn to his lips and Roy burst into flame.

Roy's flame began to sputter out after two quarters of an hour. Marth still couldn't speak a word for his position and how hard Roy's shoulder was pressing into his stomach. Suddenly, Roy's flame went out entirely. He didn't have the time nor strength to slow their stop and they both went flying through the air. Marth tumbled to a stop as his back cracked against a tree trunk and only seconds later did he hear Roy land with a splash into some nearby rushing water. He took a moment or two to lie still as his back bones cracked themselves back into place and grew together and the air returned to his lungs with a rush. Roy cursed and more splashing sounds were heard before Roy sopped over to him.

"You aight?" He looked down at Marth as he dried himself.

"Yes," he nodded.

Roy extended his hand to him and Marth took it, allowing himself to get pulled to his feet, then walked out of the shade and into the sun.

"Roy."

"Yeah?"

"We need to go back."

"We need what now?" Roy stared at him, an incredulous look glued to his face.

"Ganondorf is blackmailing those trackers by using the younger one's sister."

"And we should care for what reason?"

"Because they're not on his side. I don't think they should stay in his grip."

"Well you sure decided that randomly after a morning of captivity." Roy frowned. "Are you sure you're functioning all right or did they slip you something to dull your brain activity?"

Marth shot Roy a sharp sideways glance. "I came to the decision after a conversation in which I was convinced by the way they spoke and looked that it was the truth. I think we should help them."

Roy snorted. "That was obvious, seeing as now you're trying to convince me and you wouldn't be doing so otherwise if you were unconvinced yourself."

"If you had a sister who was going to die if you made a wrong move, wouldn't you try to save her?"

"No, that's why I don't have a sister. Can't stand the darn things, I'd likely throw her to the sharks myself instead of letting the villain have the satisfaction."

"You'd what?" Marth exclaimed.

A shadow passed overhead, stopping Roy short in his tracks. There was the sound of beating wings and the wind stirred up by them blew their hair and clothes about. Marth's face paled and they both looked up. Roy had never seen the like. It looked like an enormous raven was circling them, its black eyes' gaze boring down upon them.

"Roc!" Marth shouted.

"Shit!" Roy yelped.

The Roc dived and they fled like rats, Marth dragging Roy and bursting into flame to outrun the enormous bird, dodging and weaving around in attempt to confuse it. Marth even considered running in circles to dizzy it, but that was to risky. It dived again and tried to rip Roy from Marth's grip, making him run faster, taking the chase up the side of a cliff. Coming to an abrupt ravine, Marth jumped towards the other side.

»»««»»

Marth was awoken by a sharp slap to his face. His eyes flew open with a jerk at the strike.

"That's right, wake up, you lazy royal rump," Roy was leaning over him. "Get up, how long were you planning on sleeping, all day?"

"What?" Marth stared at him, bleary eyed. "What's going on?"

"It's morning, the sun is up, it's a wonderful day, and what are you doing? Still lying around in bed, uselessly, like as if it's not high time for you to be getting that ass of yours out of bed." Roy had moved on and was drawing the curtains open, letting the light spill into the room.

Wait, room? Marth flew upward into a sit with a flurry of flying blankets and bed sheets. He stared around, trying to make sense of what was going on. He was back at the palace, back in his room. "What day is it?" He demanded, turning to Roy suddenly.

"I believe it's Tuesday," Roy stared at him like as if he found his behavior to be odd.

"No, no, not the day of the week," Marth shook his head, frowning, "What day is it exactly?"

"Your sixteenth birthday.." Roy was still giving him the weird look as he readied Marth's clothes for him.

"What..no that can't be right, it's been a few months already, what are you talking about, Roy?" Marth furrowed his eyebrows.

"No, what are _you_ talking about, Marth? I think you need to check your dates again."

Marth stared blankly about the room for several minutes. "Cancel the celebrations!" He said, suddenly leaping out of bed.

"You want what now?" Roy stared at Marth as he threw on a robe atop his night clothes. "I don't even have the authority to do that."

"Cancel it, I'm going to talk to Father about this!" Marth ordered as he rushed out of the room and disappeared down the hall. Roy could only continue to stare in silence and confusion after the frazzled prince who had thrown on a bathrobe before leaving instead of his night robe.

* * *

**So, like it, no like it, drop me a review with your thoughts if you made it to the end! I guess I'm kind of proud of this because I've never done anything quite like this before and it was a chance to explore my writing more. Without my babbling, the story itself is 13,134 words long. That's long for me if you know my writing.**

**And for you people out there waiting for an update on ****_Blue Blood, _don't worry, I haven't dropped it. I'm still working on that and now that this fat thing is out of my way, I should be able to get back into writing that more. So stay tuned for more and stay lovely. Bye bye!**


End file.
